


waiting on the other end

by tunajohns



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Australia, Arranged Marriage Goes Wrong AU, Eloping (?) AU, Getting Back Together, M/M, by like a year or two tho, donghyuck has a shitty green ute, im never going to get over that tag tbh, mark is displeased with his life, road trip au, title from last dinosaur's beaux-mont
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 07:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15238770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunajohns/pseuds/tunajohns
Summary: Marriage is a beautiful thing. It is the union of two souls, bound in love and devotion and a band strapped around one’s finger. It is shared happiness, a promise of eternity, the certainty of possibility. It is waking up to your future, it is cherishing the past in memories shared over lazy Sunday mornings in bed, the radio volume low and spirits high. And as Mark Lee fiddles with the black satin of his bowtie, he thinksnot today, Satan.He also thinksnot tomorrow, not next week, and not until I actually want to,but he believes that isn’t quite as snappy of a phrase as it could be.Or, Mark runs away from his arranged marriage, hijacks a ute that turns out to belong to the ex-boyfriend he never got over, goes on a week-long road trip and remembers how to love himself along the way.





	waiting on the other end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after having this fic sit in my drafts for god knows how long i decided to repurpose it and huzzah!! markhyuck!!!!!  
> have fun with this lil bad boy   
> drive safely, kids

Marriage is a beautiful thing. It is the union of two souls, bound in love and devotion and a band strapped around one’s finger. It is shared happiness, a promise of eternity, the certainty of possibility. It is waking up to your future, it is cherishing the past in memories shared over lazy Sunday mornings in bed, the radio volume low and spirits high. And as Mark Lee fiddles with the black satin of his bowtie, he thinks _not today, Satan._

He also thinks _not tomorrow, not next week, and not until I actually want to_ , but he believes that isn’t quite as snappy of a phrase as it could be.

Mark Lee is twenty. He’s secured an internship in a criminal law firm that could potentially lead to a full-time career and is on his third year of a Law and Business undergraduate double-degree. He owns an apartment in the CBD gifted to him by his parents on his eighteenth birthday, but cohabits with his friend Lucas, who refuses to live with Mark in his paid-off apartment for free because Lucas doesn’t want to be cheap and live off his best friend’s inheritance (and Mark loves him for that). He likes poetry, lazy nights in, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, sunlight and J. Cole.

He’s also pretty sure he’s gay as fuck.

Which kind of makes this whole marriage thing a bit of a problem, really. You see, he loves his family. He really does. But sometimes, a guy can’t help but reconsider the meaning of life when he realises his family still wants to marry him off to the daughter of a (richer) family friend, who he cannot envision in any way apart from the pigtailed young girl who kicked over his sandcastle when he was six, let alone as his future bride.

God, his _bride_. Call him dramatic, but it makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t want a bride, for fuck’s sake. He wants a _groom_. He wants an all-the-homo bromie, sweet kisses and a drive into the sunset or something. With a guy. Mark Lee is so gay. He likes men. Masculinity. Mmmm. Did he mention he’s gay?

‘ _Mark_ ,’ his mother calls out from outside the fitting room _. ‘How do you like the tie?’_

‘I’m gay,’ he says.

‘What was that?’

Mark sighs. ‘Black looks okay.’ He prefers the blue tie, a deep ocean colour, but he feels like it’d be too _himself_   for the occasion. He’s not quite sure how to explain it, not even to himself, but trying to be himself whilst doing something that feels so wrong would just fuck him up even further. So black it is. Mark tries to concentrate on the smooth satin feeling of the tie beneath his fingers, but at this point it sort of feels like a noose, snug against his neck with a morbid sense of promise.

Hey, at least it looks good with his hair.

Mark’s phone vibrates against his pants leg, a cheery KakaoTalk notification pinging from its speakers. He slides the phone out of his pocket, unlocking his screen.

 

BIG UWU HO LENG BOI

_yoyoyo markiepoo my man wassgud_

_hows selling ur soul_

_lmao_

_wait brb getting food ill be back to laugh at ur pain_

 

1 i want to die lmaooooooooooo

1 kill me lucas-senpai

1 im too gay for this

 

A series of firm knocks rattle the door of the fitting room. ‘Mark? Everything alright?’

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Mark gently loosens the tie from around his neck. He sighs, rubbing the material between his fingers. No, nothing is alright, everything sucks and he wants to go back to his and Lucas’ apartment and play some Fortnite or something before sleeping in a pool of his tears. But his mother definitely doesn’t want to hear that, she wants to hear how happy he is with the choice of colour and how excited he is to help support the family lineage and he sort of wants to cry, but instead he settles on laughing instead, and hopes it doesn’t turn out to sound as wry as he feels like it does. ‘Yeah, I’m almost out, ma _,_ just taking everything off.’

‘Remember to hurry,’ his mother says, a gentle firmness in her tone. ‘People are waiting, son. Be a little more considerate, would you?’

Mark sighs. ‘Yes, mum.’

He slips the unfastened material away from his neck, folding it gently and placing it in its box. Then he begins to unbutton his dress shirt from its stiff collar, fabric of the shirt an almost clinical shade of white, giving up on the fourth button down in favour of pulling the material over his head in a single flourish, buttoned cuffs catching against his wrist. Mark curses himself a little bit for not thinking to unbutton them first. He shivers a little at the sudden chill of the room’s airconditioning hitting his bare skin, hurring to pull his previously discarded hoodie over his torso.

Mark can’t deny that the fitting was comfortable, even almost fun, with his mother gazing starry-eyed at different suits and ties, undoubtedly imagining her youngest son wearing each and every one of them. It felt good to make her happy. It was good to make her happy. He loved his mother, and as she gave him so much in his youth, it was only right that he would repay her in the way that she wanted most – to get married to a beautiful woman and to start a family. Like all mothers wanted. And so he’d give it to her.

There’s another vibration against his pants leg and the tell-tale _ping_ of a Kakao notification. Mark hurries to change into his jeans and sneakers as he grabs his phone, unlocking it.

 

BIG UWU HO LENG BOI

_u can never be too gay, markles_

_ok but are you actually alright_

_have you told her that this isnt what you want?_

_its been a week since this got sprung on you_

_a whole week_

_u gotta say smth soon or else they gon think ur dedicated to this_

Mark sighs, doing up the fly of his jeans as he toes on his shoes, stumbling out the dressing room door with his intended purchases dangling haphazardly from one arm, phone clasped in his right hand. His mother is on the other side, a neat eyebrow raised in disappointment upon seeing his phone out, thumb tapping out a reply as they walk to the checkout. Eh, he’ll take the lecture on using his phone too much later.

 

it doesn’t matter what i want

i’m not going to get it, cas

_never say never buddy_

_this is your whole life youre signing away_

_youll be living a lie for the rest of your life_

idk cant i get a divorce ten years down the road

_can u?_

 

 

Upon arriving at the checkout counter, Mark places the suit and tie onto the counter, finally devoting both hands to his phone. He can hear his mother chatting cheerfully about the impending wedding, so he decides to opt out of his current surroundings in favour of whining at Lucas.

 

 

nvm just remembered itd pretty much be the same thing as refusing marriage

even in ten years

_yeah no shit bro_

_youll still be gay af_

_you practically signed urself up to be a trophy husband_

_for the rest of your life_

_ur life (life… life… life… imagine that echoing…)_

_please tell me youre at least trying to get out of this_

…

 

 

Mark can hear Lucas’ tight-lipped grimace and deep inhale from the next suburb over.

 

 

_r u kidding me_

shit, i just don’t wanna disappoint anyone

_ur disappointing me rn_

you know what i mean

like

parents

family

_im never having marvel mondays with u ever again this friendship_

_is cancelled_

extended family

what the fuck man

_im cancelling ur discount at the cafe_

dude what the fuck no i need that to survive

_u have a job and ur rich fam gives u cash sometimes ull live_

_im cancelling ur wedding we need to cancel the wedding_

theres a lot of reputation shit on the line

_ok but… ur life_

_no seriously man_

_we need to cancel your fucking wedding_

as much as id want to i dont think we can

i mean uve met my mum

_markiepoo_

ill never be able to go back home

_marky-mark_

ill starve

_jesus christ on a pogo stick you live with me and have a job_

i dont wanna lose my family over liking dudes

_it’s not family if they can’t love you for who you are, mark_

 

 

At this point, Mark’s mother taps him on the shoulder. He jerks back to attention, phone slipping from his hand as he swivels around to face her, only barely saving it from hitting the tiled floor as he does some sort of arm pretzel manoeuver to catch it. ‘Oh my god, warn me next time,’ he gasps, shoving his phone into his back pocket. He catches the unimpressed look on her face and gulps.

‘Mark,’ she frowns up at him, shaking the recent purchases at him. ‘you should know better than to use your phone so much. You know, with you children these days, on your phones all the time, it really makes me see how you never appreciate real things anymore.’ Her frown deepens. ‘When I was your age, I was studying as hard as I could, not being so distracted all the time.’

 _Fuck,_ Mark thinks as he reaches out for the shopping bags adorning his mother’s arms, blabbering out a _let me carry them for you, Mum, I’ll try not to use my phone so much, oh, it’s Lucas, he’s just really excited about going… um… bowling… this afternoon, that’s what I was talking to him about, his studies are going well, no, we don’t go stay out late all the time, yes we’re doing well in our classes, don’t worry about us._ God, he loves his mother, he really does, but he could live without the _when I was your age_ stories. Especially because they’re the same thing over and over again.

Gosh diddly darn _dang_ , he really doesn’t want to be doing this.

It’s another hour of motherly concern and gushing about the impending wedding before Mark reaches his childhood home, having driven his mother back in his dented Mitsubishi Lancer. She takes the purchased suit off his hands, claiming that she _definitely wouldn’t trust a young man like you to take care of something so important, Mark_ , inviting him inside to talk to his father (which he politely declines, because he desperately wants to get back to Lucas and scream, and he’s seeing his parents again on the weekend anyways too meet up with his bride-to-be, fuck, now he’s extra nauseous) and then kissing him on the cheek through the car door window, making sure to spend an extra five minutes reminding him about the meeting with his fiancée and her parents the upcoming weekend. Upon entering the house, Mark can hear her through the opened window, chattering loudly and cheerfully to his father about how she can’t wait for the wedding.

Mark kind of wants to run away to Canada at this point. At least Canada doesn’t have his parents, he thinks mournfully as his forehead bangs against the steering wheel of his car.

No wait, he thinks to himself. This is fine, he can marry this chick, it won’t be too bad. Maybe she’ll grow on him.

 _You’re gay as fuck, and that’s not going to happen,_ the more rational part of him thinks back. _You are literally too impossibly, cripplingly, exuberantly gay to pull this off without someone getting hurt. You better find a way to fix this fast, or you will whoop your own ass to New Caledonia._

Mark leans back, pressing himself against the driver’s seat, and lets out a groan.

He is so screwed.

 

...

 

‘You are so screwed,’ Lucas says from his place on the couch, fiddling with his phone as Mark drags himself through the apartment threshold.

‘Lucas,’ Mark sighs, toeing off his shoes and flinging himself onto the space beside Lucas, ‘I’m pretty sure I already knew that.’

‘Doesn’t mean you’re doing anything about it.’

‘I don’t even _know_ what to do about it.

Lucas throws his arm around Mark’s shoulders, pulling him closer and shoving his phone into his face. ‘Well, I do.’

Rolling his eyes, Mark grabs Lucas’ phone to see whatever he’d pulled up on the screen. He really can’t see anything of note – the screen’s not even turned on. Lucas pulls away from him, standing up and dashing away. Mark looks on with a sense of mild confusion. ‘Wait,’ he starts, brows furrowing. ‘What do you mean by “I do”?’

‘I mean,’ Lucas says, returning with his MacBook and a creased manila folder cradled in his arms, ‘that you’re not gonna have to say that at the altar because of an arranged marriage.’

Lucas takes his place back on the couch next to Mark, thrusting the folder at him whilst he opens his laptop, typing in his password and clicking through folders. Mark manages to take a peek at his background image – yup, still Jungwoo. Gay!

In the meantime, Mark decides to peer into the manila folder, pulling out a stack of paper. Upon inspection, each and every one of them have coffee stains and creases. He leafs through them, observing scribbled notes, the occasional sharpied dick and a floor plan or two. ‘The fuck is this, ‘Cas?’

‘Jungwoo and I were doing some thinking the past week,’ Lucas says as he turns the laptop screen so Mark can see it better, ‘and we decided as dumb as you are, you probably don’t deserve to be subjected to the vagina of your childhood nemesis for the rest of your life. Not that she’d want _you_ anywhere near her most delicate parts. No offense.’

Mark chokes. ‘I got over the sandcastle incident over a _decade_ ago. And none taken, man.’

‘But that’s not what you were saying when we got drunk at Amber’s party on Saturday.’

‘Fuck _off_.’

‘Either way,’ Lucas says, gesturing towards the laptop screen, ‘here’s the plan.’

As Mark pulls Lucas’ MacBook onto his lap, he finds himself slapped in the face with bright magenta Comic Sans. ‘The fuck, Lucas?’

‘Just watch the presentation, Mark. I put my _heart_ into this.’

And so Mark watches the PowerPoint presentation, in all its magenta Comic Sans glory. It’s not the sort of presentation he’d get good marks on if he used it for an assessment, but it does the job. He’s kind of shocked as to how thorough the plan is, but then again, it’s Lucas – he’s always full of surprises. And Jungwoo, forever patient, forever sweet, is probably the only reason the plan doesn’t involve elaborate faked deaths (he can tell this because Lucas accidentally left in a slide with the “Press F To Pay Respects” meme on it).

It takes a while to get through the PowerPoint, but when Mark looks up, he’s met with Lucas’ best puppy dog eyes. ‘So,’ his best friend says, ‘what do you think?’

Mark looks him dead in the eye, putting on his best Serious Business Face™. ‘If I die, it’s your fault.’

Lucas face breaks out into one of his signature, wide-lipped smiles. ‘That’s m’boy.’

Mark’s mother is going to kill the both of them.

 

…

 

‘Mum is going to _kill_ us,’ Mark gasps as he throws his duffel bag into the boot of his car, dashing into shotgun. ‘Why did the alarm not fucking go off?’

Lucas practically throws himself into the driver’s seat. ‘Because you set the fucking alarm for Monday, not today, that’s fucking why.’

‘How late are we?’ Mark sure fucking hopes he’s not going sweat through the dress shirt he’s wearing. He runs a finger over the mood ring, placed gingerly in his blazer pocket. He shuts his eyes –

( _a rainbow boutonniere, polka-dot tie and glittery silver suspenders under a snow-white blazer, deep red hair haphazard, crescent-moon eyes gazing right at you, only you, he’s only ever had eyes for you and it makes you dizzy, you’re so lucky, a heart-shaped mouth stretched into a love-shaped smile, forming words, hand reaching out to grab yours, slipping something onto your finger,_ “hey, baby _–_ )

Mark’s eyes snap open. _Focus. F_ _ocus, focus. Not now, you can’t think of him now_ _–_

‘Fifteen minutes, half an hour max,’ Lucas replies. Mark watches him sneak a glance at him, a frown settling onto his best friend’s face. ‘Keep it together for a little bit longer, Mark. Just a quick chat and then it’ll be over.’

‘It’s not just that,’ Mark says, blinking hard and taking a deep breath. He should be ecstatic that he’s about to get out of all this, but it feels like he’s drowning anyways. ‘It’s just, what do I do afterwards?’

‘Norenmin’s place, like we discussed?’ Lucas’ eyes are trained on the road, but his tone is expectant. Like he knows what Mark means. Like he’s waiting for Mark to say what’s on his mind out loud.

Mark swallows. ‘I already let him go, ‘Cas.’ He remembers every little detail of the breakup, from the flowers in the vase on the table to the choked sob cut short by the click of the door behind his back.

The car is silent for a little while, Lucas turning onto a main road. It’s a little while longer before they get stopped by a red light, another stretch of silence as they wait, and then Lucas speaks. ‘You let him go, and we can’t do anything about that,’ Lucas says, voice low, deep, soothing. ‘But maybe if it’s meant to be, you’ll get him back.’ The lights turn orange, and Lucas starts the ignition up again. ‘But if it’s not meant to be, I’ll swear I’ll never let you be alone.’

The rest of the drive is silent, but Mark thinks that he doesn’t mind – Lucas’ company is enough for now.

 

~

 

 _‘Mark,’_ his mother calls, _‘over here!’_

She’s sitting at a table off to the side of the room, as he enters the café. It’s the café Lucas works at, and kind of finds it a bit of a shame that the fiancée-confirmation has to take place here – he kind of really loves this place. ‘What took you so long? Why’d you not call me if you were going to be late?’ She pinches his cheek when he gets within arm’s distance of the table, almost affectionate but definitely threatening. ‘It’s _very_ rude to keep your fiancée and her family waiting. _Very_ rude.’

‘Sorry,’ Mark mumbles, bowing his head. ‘Didn’t mean to.’ He turns to his fiancée and her mother, bowing to them in a way he hopes is respectful enough, ‘Hello aunty,’ he chokes out. He pauses, forcing himself to look his fiancée in the eye. Smiles in a way that he hopes doesn’t show how gay/dead he is on the inside. ‘Hello, Yerim.’

Yerim’s face lights up at once, and Mark feels his soul wilt from the sheer heterosexuality of the interaction. ‘Hello, Mark. It’s been a while.’

‘It has.’ Mark is wondering whether anyone has picked up on how fake his smile looks.

‘Well, let’s just get started,’ his bride-to-be’s mother says. ‘My husband and I have talked to our Yerim for quite a bit, and we’ve come to the conclusion that marrying her to your son will be greatly beneficial for our families.’ She looks back at her daughter, who’s blushing, and Mark sort of wants to hide under the table. He slides a hand into his blazer pocket, fiddling with the ring inside. ‘Of course, even though they’ve known each other for a while, they’re yet to know each other as a couple… so we thought the dating period should be for a few months at the very least, should it not?’

Mark tunes out at this point. He slides his phone out of his pocket and discreetly texts Lucas a series of aubergine (okay, eggplant, he may be rich but he’s not _pretentious)_ emojis, flipping the device over his fingers a few times and re-pocketing it. His mother and Yerim’s mother continue to chat enthusiastically, whilst Mark desperately tries to avoid eye contact with his fiancée. He’s already done it once, and as he sneaks a quick glance at her, relieved when she’s looking out the window and not gazing at him or whatever, he _really_ does not want to do it again. Mark hopes that Lucas hurries the fuck up so he can get out of here _right fucking now_.

Suddenly, Aqua’s _Barbie Girl_ blares from Mark’s phone like a bugle from the heavens, cutting through his mother’s rapid-fire chatter to Yerim’s mother about Mark’s habit of crying profusely at any given occasion in his youth.

‘Mark, turn off your _phone_ ,’ his mother hisses as she sends Yerim’s mother an apologetic smile that practically _screams_ “my son is a disgrace”. ‘Why don’t you go talk to dear Yerim whilst I catch up with her mother?’

Mark stands up, brushing the sweat of his palms off on his pants legs. ‘Ah, I think I have to take the call first, it sounds like it’s my boss.’

‘Your boss?’ Yerim asks, perfectly curved eyebrow raised in a way that definitely is calling Mark out on his bullshit as it speculates as to why any law student would have _Barbie Girl_ set as a work ringtone.

‘Yeah,’ Mark says, knees weak, palms sweating. ‘My boss.’

He bows at the general direction of Yerim and her mother, walking towards the bathroom. Once he feels like he’s out of sight, he picks up the call. ‘Yo, Lucas. You ready?’

 _‘Hell to the yeah,’_ Lucas says. Mark can hear Jungwoo singing cheerfully in the background. _‘Your duffel is out the front, and the bus to Norenmin’s apartment is in nine minutes. All systems go?’_

‘Full fucking throttle, my man. Let’s _get it_.’

A few things happen the moment Lucas ends the call, roughly in the order below:

  1. Lucas Wong (or Wong Yukhei, or Huang Xuxi, it really depends on your day and mood), also known as Satan’s Apprentice, also known as Mark’s best friend, enters the café, their cat Watermelon purring contently in his arms.
  2. He places her onto the ground and she flops over, succumbing to the joys of naptime.
  3. Doyoung Kim, (or Dongyoung Kim, but he got tired of the “dong” jokes), the Designated Mother in any given situation, also known as Lucas’ boss, rolls his eyes and proceeds to starts to contemplate sacking Lucas.
  4. He then decides that since a) he was informed of this earlier, and b) the current events are the most interesting that he’s been subject to in the last week, that perhaps Doyoung should give Lucas a pay rise instead.
  5. Jungwoo Kim, also known as the sweetest baby angel you’ll ever meet, also known as the love of Lucas’ life, enters the café with a swing in his hips and a Bluetooth speaker.
  6. _It’s Okay To Be Gay_ is blaring at top volume from the aforementioned speaker.
  7. Mark’s mother, Yerim’s mother and Yerim herself, also known as Mark’s family and family friends, also known as Mark’s personal hell, forget about Mark in favour of gawking at the gay, gay spectacle that is Jungwoo placing the Bluetooth speaker onto an empty table and leaping into Lucas’ arms, ramming his face against the other man’s face and engaging in intense, steamy, gay lip-to-lip action.
  8. My god, there is even tongue. _The homosexuals and their deviance_ , Mark’s mother whispers in mortification. _What has the world come to._
  9. Yerim stifles giggles at the looks of horror on the two elder women’s faces, before realising it’s actually kind of worrying how disgusted they look. _God, the older generation is sorta fucked up,_ she thinks.
  10. Mark Lee, using the commotion to his advantage, slips through the kitchen and exits through the back door, not before Doyoung corners him with a bag of weirdly-shaped baked goods.
  11. ‘Defects,’ the elder sighs as Mark takes the (really, suspiciously hefty) bag under one arm with a grateful smile. ‘Lucas told me about the plan – you might want to ration that off whilst your family’s on the fritz.’
  12. And with a hug and a wave, Mark is halfway to freedom.



Mark practically sprints around the block, turning his face away from the café front as he passes it again to pick up his duffel bag. He scoops it up in one fluid motion, powerwalking towards the bus stop around the corner. The air is fresh, his crops are grown, his acne cleared, his crippling social anxiety cu–

The bus he was intending on catching zooms past him like a drunken ibis.

_Fucking Sydney Transport._

And at that very moment, just as Mark contemplates running after the bus just so it can hit him, his phone goes off. He fumbles with his pockets, moving the bag of pastries to the arm holding his duffel and taking out his phone and picking up the moment the guy singing as Ken says _“jump in”_.  

‘‘Cas, I just missed my bus –’

_‘Yeah, and your fiancée’s mother just saw you pass the café, she just sent her son after you –’_

Mark chokes. ‘Yerim’s _brother_?’ He has vivid memories of a young boy with a bowlcut ( _far_ more atrocious than his own, at that age. God, only Norenmin are able to rock bowlcuts at their age, in _this_ economy. Maybe it’s a polyamory thing. Maybe Mark should talk to Lucas and Jungwoo about arranging something) laughing at him as Yerim kicked down his sandcastle.

_‘Yeah, Kijung, I think he was their ride to the café, the guy’s probably out for your blood from what I just saw. Knocked over a goddamn table on his way out.’_

Mark hears the thud of footsteps somewhere behind him. He turns around and stifles a scream – Yerim’s younger brother, Kijung Kim, is running towards him like something that runs very fast towards someone with a murderous glint in its eyes (Mark cannot imagine what that could be, as he can only see his life, flashing before his eyes).

‘ _FUCK_ ,’ Mark screams as he begins to sprint down the road, shoving his phone into his pocket as he runs for his goddamn life, precariously balancing his duffel bag and the pastries Doyoung gave him. He knows he’s at least faster than Kijung but from what he remembers, the boy has some pretty damn good stamina.

That, and he’s also really good at taekwondo.

(Mark’s only source of physical training comes from Wii Fit.)

As Mark partakes in his own personal Olympics, he decides that knocking over a bin may stall his aggressor. So he does that. Plastic bags spill out of the bin and Mark watches in horror as, not too long after, Kijung hurdles over the obstacle.

Mark wonders if Lucas remembers where he put his will.

‘ _You COWARD!_ ’ Kijung shrieks, voice cracking from what Mark assumes to be puberty –  the guy’s seventeen, after all. Mark remembers what life was like when he was seventeen.

( _late nights out, an arm around your waist, lips pressed against your neck as you whirl him around, his laughter is like ice cream in the summer, his fingers are running through your hair, his forehead pressed against yours, you are seventeen, in the prime of your youth and you feel completely timeless –_ )

Mark snaps back to reality when he realises Kijung’s fist is flying towards his face. He sidesteps a mean right hook with a shriek and does what any rational person would do.

Mark Lee, business law double-degree student, achiever of High Distinctions, master (not really) of the flute, aged twenty, reaches into his bag of pastries, pulls out the stickiest Danish he can find, and hurls it at Kijung’s face. It hits the guy smack-bang on the forehead.

The two of them stand in silence for a short moment.

Mark throws another pastry, and somehow it goes down Kijung’s shirt collar, falling onto the pavement between his feet.

Kijung can only gape at him.

After another shocked pause and a stroke of genius, Mark then decides that he better go hard or go home (and since he can’t go home without getting dragged to hell, Mordor and back to the café to redo the entire fiancée-agreement thing by his mother, he thinks that going hard is a better option). He reaches forwards, pulls out the waist of Kijung’s pants and shoves yet another Danish into them, making a mental note to thank Doyoung immensely as he wedgies the poor boy with all the strength he can muster.

As Mark lets go of Kijung’s pants and continues running away, he sincerely hopes that the poor boy’s balls will be alright. He continues to run down the road, shifting the duffel and pastries to his right arm to give his left a break. He sincerely hopes the driver of the bus he was going to get on chokes. It came at _least_ three minutes early. Mark knows for sure. He was checking his watch the entire time.

He figures he doesn’t have too long before Kijung tries to go after him again – he shoots a look behind him, and he can already see the kid hobbling along the pavement. What a fucking trooper. Someone should give that kid a medal. He’s being far better at being a brother than Mark is at being a son.

Deep breaths, in and out. Maybe he’s sort of panicking. He really can’t go back now, after the stunt he pulled. He wants to cry. The air is stagnant, his crops are dead from the Siberian winter, his acne is flourishing, his crippling social anxiety is rampant as alwa–

Mark spots a guy, probably about his age, opening the door of a shitty green ute, a binder tucked under one arm and takeaway coffee in hand. The guy’s fashion sense is cute, with muted orange hair and red jacket hanging off his shoulders. Something about the guy seems familiar, to the point Mark’s chest aches if he lets himself think about it too deeply (he tries to convince himself that lots of cute people drive ugly green utes, and not just – well, never mind). Instead of politely asking the guy for a lift, he decides that this is the perfect opportunity for him to hijack a vehicle. Tick another thing off his bucket list before he inevitably sells his soul to the capitalist society he lives in one way or another. Like, c’mon. He’s already established himself as the family disgrace; he may as well take it one step further.

Well, it’s now or never.

He sprints towards the ute, throwing his duffel and pastries into the back and praying for forgiveness as he bodyslams the guy onto the road.

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just really need to get away from here I am _so sorry_ forgive me Jesus, fuck,’ Mark gasps as snatches the ute keys off the ground, the guy he just bodyslammed face-down and wheezing (thank you, Wii Tennis). He jumps into the driver’s seat and rams the key into the ignition, the _put-put-put_ of the ute’s shitty engine drowning out the guy’s loud protesting. ‘I am _so sorry_ ,’ Mark repeats mournfully, reaching out to the ute door and slamming it shut.

He vaguely registers the guy, having picked himself up off the floor, climbing up into the back of the ute himself with a dull _thud_ , the poor chap wailing out a _what the actual fuck, dude, you’re lucky I’m too damn broke to sue you_ as he begins to back out of the parking spot. _Well, at least the guy won’t have to go looking for his car_ , Mark thinks. He really does not need anything else on his conscience.

Mark is, at this point, quite sure that he’s probably half-insane on the adrenaline of the moment. He can hear Kijung screaming from behind him as he speeds away in the direction of Jeno, Renjun and Jaemin’s apartment (at least, the fastest he can speed away in a shitty ute).  _Barbie Girl_ blares from his phone just as he’s stopped at some traffic lights and he picks up, tapping on the loudspeaker function and settling the phone onto the ute dashboard. ‘Yo, ‘Cas, what’s good?’

 _‘Jungwoo and I went after Kijung, and we just saw you wedgie the guy and hijack a fucking car, the fuck, dude?’_ Lucas wheezes, Jungwoo making nurturing noises in the background, probably tending to Kijung. _‘I mean, I guess you could offer the guy the rest of your life or something once your mother isn’t able to catch and drag you back.’_

‘I sorta feel real guilty, dude, I mean he’s just chilling in the back of the ute.’

_‘Yeah, we saw that too. Isn’t that illegal?’_

Mark turns left at a roundabout. He’s a couple of minutes away from the apartment block, now. ‘Yeah, pretty sure it is.’

_‘You should probably take the guy out for dinner… wait… shit, your mother’s here, holy shit she is giving me the death stare of the century, wait, hold the line –’_

Mark cringes at the thought of his mother having a go at his best friend. At least she can’t do anything, since Lucas isn’t her kid, but he still feels really fucking shitty for inadvertently subjecting Lucas to everything. ‘Lucas, my man, everything alright?’

After a minute or so, Lucas’ voice sounds through the phone again. _‘Markiepoo, we have a code red.’_

‘Fuck, hit me with it.’

_‘If you’re already at the apartment, your mum’ll know.’_

Mark blanches, just as he’s about to turn into the driveway. ‘Wait, _what? How?_ ’ If he can’t go to the apartment, where else is he going?

 _‘She just turned on_ Find My iPhone _. And she knows Jaemin lives there. The whole –’_

 ‘Family friend shebang, yeah, yeah, I know.’ Mark seriously considers dying. Curse his mother and her endless connections. ‘Fuck.’

_‘You’ll have to stay on the move until I can talk her out of sending a platoon after you.’_

‘Tragic. I’ve got a fuckton in my account, I’ll manage a road trip of some sort.’

Lucas laughs. _‘And here I was, worried you’d spent all your hard-earned funds on ugly sweaters.’_

‘Fuck off, Lucas.’ Yeah, Mark likes his sweaters. Yeah, maybe they’re ugly. But he likes comforts, and sweaters are comfortable, and they’re not even excessive purchases because most of them are from different brands so they’re practically all different even if they _are_ all different shades of blue. Lucas can fuck right off.

 _‘Sure, sure._ ’ Lucas’ voice turns fond. _‘Call me when you find a place to stay, dude. Though you might wanna keep your phone off for now, just so she can’t use_ Find My _fucking_ iPhone _.’_

‘Choke on a dick, Lucas.’ Mark begins to reverse out of the driveway, pulling out onto the main road. He considers driving safely, realises his life has gone to shit and he no longer cares about legal consequences of his actions, and proceeds to floor it.

_‘Will do, Markles.’_

The line goes dead, and Mark inhales deeply, turning a few corners before parking at a curb so he can reach over and switch off his phone, before driving off again, to God knows where. Just his fucking luck. And he was _really_ looking forward to staying with Jaemin, Jeno and Renjun. He barely gets to spend time with any friends that aren’t Lucas and Jungwoo because of his dedication to his family and degree, so he’s kind of really bummed right now. He promptly starts to scream out his frustrations, garnering a few taps (more like open-palmed slaps) on the rear window from the guy in the back, who shrieks ‘YOU ALRIGHT, FAM?’ amidst Mark’s wails.

Mark turns his gaze to the rear view mirror amidst his screaming, and his heart stops. He’d know that face anywhere.

The young man in the back of the ute mouths Mark’s name with rosy lips, pretty walnut-shaped eyes wide with shock. He looks even more beautiful than Mark remembers.

Mark proceeds to almost kill them both by accidentally swerving into the next lane, barely missing an oncoming van. He flails back into the correct lane, frantically scanning the surrounding area for a decent parking spot.

He then remembers that there’s a beach ahead if he drives for another twenty-thirty minutes or so, so he figures he can just park on the beachside or something. He hasn’t seen the sea in ages either. Wouldn’t hurt to drive for a bit longer too, to ease his nerves a little. God, he is so fucked right now.

Maybe if he drives forever, he’ll never have to face the guy in the back.

 

…

 

‘Y’know, from the way you were driving, I thought you were gonna keep going forever.’

Mark’s turned off the ignition. He’s about to get out of the ute and apologise profusely when the owner of his joyride hops off the back of the ute and practically sashays over to the door. He leans against the doorframe, head dipped in line with the window. ‘You were always a good runner.’ He laughs, the sound bittersweet.

_If it’s meant to be, you’ll get him back._

Mark sure well hopes that it’s fucking meant to be.

‘I suppose an apology is in order,’ Mark murmurs. He looks up into the other boy’s eyes. ‘Donghyuck.’

Donghyuck’s eyes are dancing. His arms fold to rest on the base of the window frame, voice tinged with a characteristic warmth. ‘Mark Lee.’

‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’

‘Would’ve been shorter if you’d kept in touch.’ Donghyuck rolls his eyes, playing a cheerfully flippant character, but Mark can see the bitterness in his gaze. Donghyuck was always easy to read.

‘Perhaps it would have been.’ Mark is freakishly close to crying. There’s a lot of regret surrounding Donghyuck, how he left things with him. Maybe he should’ve just been honest with the boy and told him what was really going on. Maybe he should’ve been honest with his mother and have told her to fuck off, just once. Maybe he just should’ve been honest to himself.

Donghyuck’s gaze softens, turns into something scarily fond. ‘Well either way, it’s real nice to see you again.’ He blinks, eyelashes fluttering against sun-kissed cheekbones, and Mark forgets how to breathe.

He does his best not to reach out and kiss Donghyuck too to the point of breathlessness, running his fingers along the ridges of the ring in his pocket, hands trembling. ‘Likewise.’ He pauses, takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve missed you, Hyuck.’ He really has. Even though it’s been three years, and even though he should’ve forgotten him by now.

Mark shuts his eyes. He can hear the waves in the background, children’s laughter, Donghyuck exhaling softly. The young man’s silence is killing him, it’s stupid for him to think that Donghyuck will feel the same, they’ve grown up, grown apart, and it’s all Mark’s fault but he still misses Donghyuck so much –

‘Missed you too, baby.’

And it’s only that single endearment, cheesy and tacky in a way only high schoolers can make it, but Mark feels like he can breathe again. ‘Good,’ he sighs, sending Donghyuck a smile weakly disguised as a cocky smirk.

‘But, while we’re here, you wanna explain how we got here?’

Mark blinks. ‘What?’

‘Why’d you hijack my ute?’ Donghyuck winces. ‘And whilst we’re talking about the carjack, you’ve got a real mean shoulder barge, y’know that, right?’

Mark laughs weakly. ‘Shit. It’s a long story.’ He

‘Well,’ Donghyuck says, checking his watch, ‘it’s not too long past one. Time’s ours to kill.’

‘Do you want to get lunch first?’ Mark blurts out, face reddening. ‘Well, I mean, I don’t know about you but I’m sort of hungry since I didn’t have lunch and I guess we could, I don’t know –’

‘Catch up?’ The grin Donghyuck sends him, the pull of his lips, the flash of his teeth, is the most beautiful thing he’s seen all day.

Mark swallows, willing down his blush. ‘Yeah.’

‘Sounds good. Up for fish and chips?’

‘We’re at the beach.’ Mark says. What he really means to say is _of course, and by the way I never stopped loving you and I hope you notice that and feel the same way_ , but that doesn’t quite come out.

Donghyuck laughs and reaches through the window to ruffle his hair. ‘You haven’t changed much at all, haven’t you?’

Mark looks up at him, takes in the way the sunlight falls against his hair, his smile a sunbeam. ‘Neither have you.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tunajohns) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/tunajohns)


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